


“What do you get when you mix an Ancient Demon in with an Assassin Child and a large Clan of Capes?……A FAMILY”

by Hollow_Fan_Soul_55



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Brotherly Love, Brotherly Tim & Damian, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Demon Tim Drake, Demons, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Magic, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Tim Drake, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Stephanie Brown is Robin, Tough Love, tag updates as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:33:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollow_Fan_Soul_55/pseuds/Hollow_Fan_Soul_55
Summary: The Trails are known as the most grueling display of cunning, strength, and speed throughout the organization that is the League of Assassins.No one knows exactly what magic has intertwined itself so completely with the tunnels to create the maze of underground caverns.The only one to know what is at the end is Ra’s al Ghul. That is, hewasthe only one to know. Damian is eight when he reaches the end of this deadly maze and findswhois at the end.A demon.And maybe, just…m a y b e……his saving grace.





	1. ~One~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overview

The Trials are known as the most grueling display of cunning, strength, and speed throughout the organization that is the League of Assassins.

No one knows exactly what magic has intertwined itself so completely with the tunnels to create the maze of underground caverns. For not a single person who enters goes through the same tests, nor does a person experience the same situation or challenge twice. 

A sick little game of adaptation and quick thinking adopted by the organization. 

It is the very same trial Ra’s al Ghul has completed thirteen separate times and come out empty handed despite the carvings at the entrance reporting treasure and the confirmation by Ra’s himself. 

Everyone within the League who have proven themselves and risen from the rank of ninja to that of an assassin constantly trains with the prospect of a new moon opening the maze’s gate and their next possible promotion as one of Ra’s al Ghul’s _elites._

Trials begin starting directly at sunset and lasts for two days. That means two days total in the death maze, and on the dawn of the third day, most of those who entered prior walk out in a trance before the cave seals again.

Not everyone survives these trials. The traps inside catch those who are unworthy.

Damian is eight when he’s finally allowed to perform with his training in the maze by his mother Talia al Ghul. He is determined to reach the end and bring out the prize that not even his grandfather could obtain in order to prove himself.

However, things don’t go _quite_ as planned for little Damian. 

Oh, he reaches the end in one piece. That’s not the problem. The _problem_ is what he finds at the finish isn’t exactly what he was expecting.


	2. ~Two~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trials of the Head

Damian keeps his hand trailing along the wall. He is ignoring the sticky goo that kept collecting between his fingers and the sharp ache in his knees from having taken a hit from a rolling rock, added on by the dulled pain in his back from having crawled on his hands and knees for several hours after that. 

Despite this, he keeps pushing along through the near-suffocating darkness. His muscles coiled and his senses pushed to the limit so he could be prepared for the next traps, or at the very least, hear it before it hit him. 

With a small intake of air, Damian pauses, reaching out and around for the next section of wall — resigned to what might be waiting with intent to harm him — but he feels nothing other than damp open air at his fingers.

He’s going over possibilities on what might be happening when a light bursts in front of him like a flash-bomb. Damian hisses sharply, clamping his eyes shut and throwing an arm up to shield his eyes while keeping the other guarded in front of him. 

As the seconds tick by, he waits for something to come flying through the air to cut him down. Waits for a boulder to roll down and crush him, or even for the ceiling to cave down on him because of a hairpin trigger. Anything, really.

When nothing comes at him from the darkness, he slowly cracks his eyes open, strategically waiting for the second it takes to clear thanks to his training and blinks past the remaining dark black spots that clouded most of his sight. 

With slow and careful steps Damian entered the newest cavern.

What he finds is unlike anything he’s experienced thus far.

This cavern was decorated with a large fireplace nearly brushing the ceiling. One that houses a crackling and roaring fire casting shadows over a high backed chair in the center only a few mere meters away. 

Although the oddity truly starts with the walls decorated in royal red and the floor covered with plush rugs, followed by a large expansive bookshelf stocked to the brim with worn spines, and ends with the large and plush looking bed directly against the wall. 

“You actually made it here?” 

The crude blade had shattered in the first cavern Damian had run into after entering the maze. Yet he has the broken end of his sword pointed up in an instant at the seemingly black chair where the voice had come from, his heartbeat thudding in his throat but expression schooled.

The chair turns around and…and Damian wasn’t expecting what he sees there.

Even as his arm lowers training makes Damian’s eyes catalog the ethereal boy sitting dressed in long folds of rich red and orange trimmed silks with milky pale skin and gentle curves on his arms and bare legs as he sits straight and proper. The only word Damian can think to describe him is _beautiful._ Otherworldly so.

His face is strangely soft, much like the storybooks Mother had read to him when he was a mere child. The damsel with pink lips pursed in confusion and deep blue eyes framed by thick black eyelashes. This boy fits the image almost perfectly.

His long black hair falls around his face in silky strands that brush his cheeks and adds to the overall _innocence_ Damian can’t help but associate with the looks even though it doesn’t hide the low thrum of power coming from the boy. 

“I didn’t think anyone else would.” The boy sounds surprised, yet dismissive. “Well, welcome, I guess.” The boy rose in one graceful movement and was beside Damian in six quick strides. 

Before his brain could catch up and examine the situation properly, his mouth blurts out: “You… _you’re_ the treasure?!”

The boy’s face darkens in a flash. Just over his shoulder the fire changes, surging up and flaring outwards in a shifting spectacle of deep blues that hiss and spurt threateningly. 

“ _Treasure?_ ” The boy’s voice was so very soft, and so emotionless, that it sent a shiver up his spine, stopping at the base of his skull in a sharp buzz. Damian didn’t dare move as the boy rubs his hand down his wiry arm in angered strokes again and again. “You sound _exactly_ like _that **man**_ who just won’t get it through his skull that _I’m not going to be ruled by him!_ ” 

The unnatural fire flickers and nearly dies in an instant, plunging the room into near darkness and casts exaggerated shadows on the boy’s face. His blue eyes glow unnaturally bright in the dark as if they were two beacons that pinned Damian down.

The darkness of the cavern only enhances the dull fire deep in his eyes that seems to be the cause of the glow as he bares his perfect white teeth. 

“ _Ha!_ ” The boy barks out with a mirthless laugh, snapping Damian back to the present situation. “Head of the Demons _my ass!_ ” The boy runs his hand through his hair, suddenly appearing and pacing along the length of the fireplace which was now back to normal. 

The full meaning of his words sinks in a moment later for Damian. “Wait…you’re what Grandfather wants so badly?”

The boy’s head snaps up in his direction, an animalistic growl escaping his mouth, causing Damian to straighten his back as he silently curses his tongue. 

“Of _course._ ” He drawls, contempt in his voice as he sizes Damian up in a different light than when he had entered. “Ra’s mentioned having a grandson last time he tried to ‘woo’ me. Damian, was it? Well isn’t this going to be _fun._ ” 

The boy slouches down into the chair, eyeing Damian through half-lidded, untrusting eyes.

Damian pushes aside the irrational pang of hurt he feels for being judged by this… _boy_ who was only roughly a decade older than himself and lives in a dangerous cave system alone for who knows what reason.

As if he has any right to judge Damian!

“What makes Grandfather want you?”

Damian slaps a hand over his mouth, cursing himself again for letting his _childishness_ get the better of him even after all the blurting he’s been doing. He will have to fix that at a later date. 

He watches with bated breath as the boy’s eyes open fully with an air of curiosity rather than hostility, the pressure he hadn’t even realized had been crushing against him lifting. 

“You don’t know? _He_ never told you?”

When Damian shakes his head the boy smirks and motions for him to come closer. Damian finds his body following the action without a second thought. “Why do you think he calls himself the Demon Head, little one?” 

Damian glowered but decides to humor this weird boy in hopes of getting an answer. “Tt, because it strikes fear into our enemies, of course.”

The boy’s eyes positively _twinkle._ “It seems you need to read your history some more, little one,” Damian growls, but the boy ignores the sound, carrying on without acknowledging the threat of it. “It was because he found me, little thing. He figured he could control me. To _own me_ and become the ruler of demons, even if only to a portion of it.” 

A coldness spreads through his chest, suddenly reminded of a story Mother had told him when he was younger about **The Demon Maze.**

“You’re a _demon_?” The boy –demon– blinks at Damian and he feels his skin crawl again with the implication of it all. This wasn’t just some weird boy in the maze anymore, this was a dangerous creature that could level cities and destroy countries. 

_…So why hasn’t he attacked Damian yet, and why doesn’t Damian feel fear for himself?_

This demon must be _extremely_ old to have met Grandfather when he was still young and had yet to call himself as such, which meant he had to have a lot of knowledge and power.

The demon shifts into Damian’s face, snaring his full attention again as those blue eyes lock onto his own with a sharp intelligence that reminds him of a more intense Grandfather. 

He doesn’t like the feeling of this _thing_ from Hell seeing through him so easily, or the sad knowing smile he gives when he leans back, a soft sigh following that action. “You want to own me too, do you not?” 

With an oddly horrified sinking in his gut, Damian realized that he does. He wants to own this demon when even _Grandfather_ couldn’t, to be better than him in something and finally earn his approval. 

“I don’t want to be owned, Damian.” He continues, sounding so bone-deep _tired_ that when Damian watches him in that chair, his body seemed to bend under the weight of something Damian is unable to perceive. 

“It’s lonely down here, you know. The only people I’ve seen in the last two thousand or so years have been you and Ra’s, and all you do is gloat and want to own me, to use me for my powers. It is an exhausting prospect — that the only way to be released is to bind myself to a tyrant. It has happened many times, but believe me, if you will, that I do not wish it so.” 

And this _puzzles_ him. “Can’t you just leave on your own?” 

The demon doesn’t look up, and the silence that stretches between them is telling all on its own. He _can’t_ leave, Damian realizes, because the magic that seals this cave until each full moon must stop him. 

“Well,” He starts slowly, straightening his back. “What if I make you a deal then, demon? My own, and not yours.” 

He steps right in front of the teenage-looking ancient being, forcing himself to look up to see his face, to jut out his chin and put on an air of confidence. “We can be comrades. I won’t order you to use your powers unless I or my own are in danger, and you’ll stay with me wherever I go.” 

With a beat of almost stunned silence, the boy’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “ _Friends?_ Deal.” The boy holds out his hand, and Damian takes it with a firm shake.

What he _wasn’t_ expecting was for the soft skin of the boy’s hand that completely _covers_ his own tan skin to tighten as a searing pain of something burns its way up his arm and onto his back. 

Damian may have screamed, he wasn't quite sure when the only thing he could focus on was the way everything went white and then dead black.

When he opens his eyes again he feels as though no time has passed at all, but his body weighs ten times as much. He finds himself tucked under thick covers and his head in the boy’s lap as fingers trail over the crown of his forehead. Oddly enough, he doesn't feel like moving from his current position, too comfy as his senses still float on a pain-high. 

“Sorry I didn’t realize you were hurt, I should have noticed.” Damian slides his eyes up to look at the boy and blinks several times because _something_ had changed. 

He could still see the demon –boy, really. Damian just couldn’t wrap his mind around the boy being _powerful_ – but behind him was a faint outline of a hulking drake curled around the room. Thick scale-plates covering a body of lean muscles, the scales a blend of reds over even deeper black as the creature shifts to watch Damian with a cracked open blue eye that rests heavy and lidded in its long and narrow face.

“Drake.” The boy blinks twice in surprise, an ever so small smile slowly replacing the worried frown. _He looks better smiling,_ Damian realized with a start, and then questions where that thought came from. 

The moment is ruined when the boy started laughing, an even smaller sound than the smile had been a sight. His shoulders shake like he wasn’t used to doing either, both actions quiet and unobtrusive. Damian vowed to fix that, as odd a thought that was, he realized he really did want to make the boy the center of attention as he should be.

“That’s not a very good first name, Damian.” The boy mocks, eyes alight with laughter that he seemed determined to keep hidden from the world. “Is that what you’ll name me, little gremlin?” 

“What do you mean?” Damian asks, tone defensive if not a bit curious.

The boy blinks again, lips thinning as he clearly does not quite pick up on his curiosity. “Well, you can’t say my demon name without completely controlling me, and it’s usually earned over time anyway unless forced out. Although a tidbit or piece is usually bestowed on the bonded, however, I do not believe that will be beneficial for us.” His chilled fingers run through Damian’s hair lazily, blunt nails dragging across Damian's scalp and sending shivers through his body. 

He wasn’t used to being touched so casually, not even by Mother who is most familiar with him and the most inclined to soft touches. “So what will my name be?”

Damian thinks it through, letting the feeling of the boy under him sink in, and all possibilities get looked into. Finally, he decides on one that seems to click with the image. 

“Timothy. Timothy Drake seems appropriate, don't you think?” 

The boy was laughing again, louder this time even as it still shakes Damian’s body. Damian scowls when he continues to laugh and shake under and over him, making the vibrations larger the longer he goes on.

“ _Honoring God?_ ” Timothy says with disbelief after catching his breath. “You _are_ a crazy one, aren't you?” 

Damian opens his mouth to protest his choice, but the boy was talking again. “Well then, Timothy it is. But why Drake, little one?” 

Damian squints up at Timothy, trying to judge if he was being messed with or actually questioned. _Like you don’t know…_

“That form behind you?” Damian asks even though the drake was long gone and the empty space in the room cavernous compared to before. “Are you able to transform into it?” 

Timothy shrugs his shoulders, looking around the cave slowly as if thinking. “Yes, I haven’t done it in a long while. No need to when there isn’t anything here attacking, and it would be a little too cramped to really bother.” 

Timothy slides out from under Damian, and he instantly wants him to sit back down. He holds those words in because an al Ghul does not plead or beg for _anything._

“Is that why you chose Drake as my surname, Damian?” He nods in confirmation, pushing up against the mattress even as his shoulder burns with a sharp pulse and shakes. “Then I’ll show you when we get out of here.”

_Oh,_ Damian watches as Timothy moved to the bookshelf. _He hasn’t mentioned leaving yet._

“When _can_ we leave?” Timothy stills right at the bookshelf, hand resting on a very worn spine — more so than the rest, even. “The magic hasn’t gone away, I’m still stuck, and in about three hours it will make you leave.”

“ _What!?_ ”

Timothy clicks his tongue, shooting Damian an impatient look. “The magic _will_ wear off, it will merely take time. I believe it will be right around your tenth birthday when it finally dissipates.”

Timothy glides over to the bed and sits down on the edge as light as a feather, the mattress barely dripping under his weight. “It has soaked into these walls for far too long to simply fade in a few scant hours. Until then I will teach you about myself, our bond-mark, and everything our deal entails us." 

_Wait…what?_


	3. ~Three~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Waynes

Damian enters the maze one month after his tenth birthday, navigating the passages without a problem and reaching Timothy’s room in about an hour give or take for dodging other assassins and Grandfather’s underlings. There aren’t any traps this time, but the tunnels were still a maze to figure out. 

“Timothy!” He calls out loudly, walking right up to the bed and reaching over to shake the boy awake. Or _tried_ to. The lump under the covers groans and shuffles away but doesn't rise. Scattered around him all over the bed are books that Damian has brought down over the last two years. “Timothy, get your lazy ass up!” 

The boy groaned again, rolling over and in the process shifting the blankest to reveal his bare back where the bond-mark is seared into his skin. The very same mark as Damian has on his own body.

The mark itself is about the size of Damian’s palm, made of thick black lines crisply forming gaping forward facing jaws of jagged teeth with a single eye the same shades of red as Timothy’s scales deep-set in the center where the throat would have been. _Watching._ Damian has compared them in a mirror countless times, his on the left and Timothy’s on the right. Mirror images.

With a sigh, Damian slips his shoes off and climbs in under the covers next to Timothy, curling up under his arm and pressing his back against pale skin. The body behind him stills in a way Damian knows means Timothy is finally fully aware of him.

“Mornin’ Dames,” He breathes, breaking off with a yawn before turning onto his side and wrapping his arms fully around Damian’s body — nuzzling against his hair and settling in. “Time to go?” 

Damian huffs slightly, burrowing backward into the colder-yet-warmer-than-normal skin of whom he considers a friend if not close to an older brother.

“Yes Timothy,” he says, “And as you predicted, the magic is gone from the maze…it won't be long before others reach us here.” Damian continues to lay there even when Timothy shifts again to get up, moving almost sluggishly while snapping his fingers to make all the furniture and things in the cave return to him in a string of smoke that he swallows.

Timothy then snaps a second time, changing his clothes into what he made with his powers after seeing them in a catalog Damian brought down for this very purpose. 

Much to Damian’s charging Timothy chose an average, dull red shirt and an average pair of blue jeans since he isn’t affected by the heat he decided that he would wear something he would be able to wear in the colder climate in Gotham.

“Have you decided how you wish me to leave yet?” Timothy asked distractedly.

Because of course there were _options._

The first being to go out in his human-form and be seen by Grandfather and Mother, the second was Timothy going out as a drake and exposing that ability to Grandfather……and the last was for Timothy to enter the bond-mark on the back of Damian's shoulder and stay there until they went to Father.

None of the options would be pleasant. The first two for obvious reasons and the last because of the pain it would cause him even after doing it before, though given the circumstances a slight pain is nothing compared to the others, so he knows what Timothy will decide–

“It is your decision, Timothy.”

Timothy hums. “Bond-mark, then. Since you’ll be leaving to see your father in a few weeks and it’s really the only option. Besides, the less Ra’s has to see me and the less I of _him,_ the better.”

Damian stands up swiftly and crosses his arms over his chest, standing in front of Timothy. “Fine by me.”

With a small apologetic smile and a blip, Timothy’s body turns into a snaking curl of dark black smoke tinted blue and red in random strings that rams itself into his chest with a lurch.

He stumbles backward and braces an arm on the barren wall, the mark on his shoulder burning like a hot iron for a split second as it pulses and then cools. 

Damian huffs, and with one last glance behind him, he makes his way back into the maze and towards where Grandfather and Mother would be waiting at the exit. 

He waits at the lip of it — cloaked in shadow as competitor after competitor passes. Then, and only then, does he leave his perch.

When he steps out of the cave, Mother is standing there scowling so severely that the ninjas behind her were shrinking away in cowardice. 

Damian sneers at them. Pathetic really.

They are just lucky Mother is too focused on Grandfather — who was currently belittling the men and women who had come out before him to notice their cowardice.

Damian decides to give them a pass this time, on account of his success and good mood.

Grandfather is _undoubtedly_ displeased with the knowledge that the maze has lost its magic and most of the assassins had exited through Timothy’s chamber and found it empty, devoid of anything to the point they had only known it was the final one after taking the straight shot out. 

The proceedings afterward go smoothly enough, though not without a beheading or two. Once it ends, Mother looks down at him from where they stand on the sidelines and with curt words sends him to his room. 

It was that very next day that Grandfather was attacked and killed, Mother hissing all the way about how if they had had the _treasure_ none of this would have happened as they escape with a single bag of Damian’s most prized possessions. 

“ _Do not let any see the mark you bare, Damian,_ ” Timothy warns, tone soft but forceful. So Damian silently followed Mother onto the ship several weeks early.

~****~

Damian is finally home.

He is the only biological son of Batman, and yet these imbeciles have so much control over his time. Father collects too many strays who don’t deserve it. He should simply cut his losses.

“ _They are his family as much as you are, child. You’d do well to remember family is not the blood that ties you down, but the water you share with others._ ” Timothy intones, his tone far away as if he were thinking of something else.

Damian grinds his teeth, watching the blonde bimbo wave her hands around by Father as Grayson wags his metaphorical tail. He _hates_ Brown.

~****~

Stephanie tries to focus on her surroundings and get back on her feet, so she’s _not_ killed in the Batcave by a waist-high _monster,_ but her body just _won’t **cooperate** with her._

She hadn’t been expecting an abdomen-high kid to jump out of absolute fricken nowhere, let alone it be by Bruce’s stupid apparent _actual biological son_ which is a mindfuck of its own without _this_ happening on top of it!

She’s forcing herself up with shaking arms when there’s a sudden roar of “Damian!” from an unfamiliar voice above her, and the assassin-baby stumbles back as if he was being _dragged away._ He’s shouting out curses and struggling like no other, she’s sure, but he doesn’t return to finish the job.

Before her brain could even _catch up_ with what just happened, a shadow falls over her like the kids before it and she flinches back…but a gentle hand on her arm stops her from falling back farther and collapsing. 

“Shh,” a soft voice says, no longer rippling with power. “It’s going to be okay, I swear that.” As if cued, a faint tingle races over her body and her vision clears just enough to see deep blue eyes glowing with red specks inside them, framed by black hair.

The boy is leaning over her, cooing quiet things as he moves to hold his thin, pale ass hands over her face like some weird magician. Strangely enough, she could physically _feel_ her wounds fading away as the seconds clicked by. 

“Who–” she groans, trying to focus on the boy past the hand above her into more than the sharp features and the vague blur she already made out. 

“Shh, sleep now.” He murmurs, and her eyes grow heavy almost instantly. _Magic, it has to be._ The last thing she hears is frantic shouting from the stairs as the boy disappears from her sight.

~****~

“Steph, there wasn’t anyone else in the cave. It’s impossible.” Dick pleads, holding up his hands in a futile effort to make her sit down. “We checked the camera feeds and everything!”

Stephanie ignores them completely and continues to pace, hair flying into her face with each sharp turn. The only wounds left from the fight are very faint lines and a shallow stab over her left collarbone which she knows should have been pretty damn close to being deadly. 

The only reason the rest of the Bats aren’t dismissing the healing part of her story completely is all the blood she’d been lying in, and the camera feeds are a bullshit excuse because she knows there’s missing time. Less than a _minute_ from a single camera, but it’s there and she knows Dick is grasping straws. 

“No Dick. I know what I saw, I know what the feeds are _missing,_ and it wasn’t just some freak healing from space and time!” She drags her hands through her hair roughly, pulling at it each time she catches one of their looks. “There was another boy in the cave who dragged Damian away and healed me. I _swear_ he was there!”

“And we aren’t saying we don’t trust your judgment, Miss Stephanie,” Alfred says, setting the tea-tray down with a soft voice before handing the cups out with his whole British flare. “We are just trying to wrap our minds around it, is all.”

“It doesn’t _sound_ like they actually believe me, Alf.” She whines, glaring at them all.

“Stephanie. Explain what happened when the boy appeared again, and we will try to figure it out.” Bruce’s tone said ‘ _stern parent just hearing her side of the story,_ ’ but his eyes and soft frown say ‘ _I’m sorry you got hurt._ ’

“Well, okay then.” Maybe if she explains well enough… “I was walking through the cave when out of _nowhere–_ ”

~****~

Damian sits curled up in the corner of the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. Stupid Grayson for dragging him even further from Brown than Timothy had. Stupid _Brown **period**_. All Damian had to do was become Robin, and that task would have been simple if not for Timothy’s _interruption._

“ _Don’t you blame me for your foolish actions, child._ ” Damian winces and curls up tighter. “ _It is you who acted like a spoiled brat, not me._ ” 

Damian clicks his tongue, wishing Timothy would just come out and scold him. He could at least escape his voice then, or try to push the boy away if need be. Damian can’t do that when Timothy’s essence is inside the mark and their minds are closest.

“ _Don’t tut at me, brat. It is your own fault, and you will deal with the consequences of your own actions._ ”

He’s distracted, which means the upbeat call of, “Hey kiddo, mind if I come in?” doesn’t register as a _real_ voice and by the time it does the realization delayed his ‘no’ just long enough for _it_ to enter.

He pulls his lips back, snarling as Grayson saunters in. 

“ _Repent._ ” Timothy hisses, voice cracking with power. 

Damian pays no mind and instead focuses on Grayson as he plops ungracefully down on the bed furthest from the door and sprawls out.

Grayson was the most tolerable out of the pets Father collected since he was mostly out of the house and even Gotham, but Damian hates the sheer unconcern he shows when in his presence.

One of these times Damian will stab him, but as is, Father has taken away all his weapons and he doesn’t want to make the situation even worse. He will refrain. For now.

And for whatever unfathomable reason there is, Father likes them.

Grayson breaks the silence with an exuberant, “I just got done talking to Steph, and you should apologize to her, by the way. Anyways, she said there was someone else in the cave?” 

“No there wasn’t. Go away.” 

“Dami–” 

“ _Child…_ ” 

“Go! Away!”

“List–” 

“ _Damian!_ ”

Damian jerks back away from the window and, unrelated to that, Grayson. Timothy sits just beyond Grayson’s shoulders, perched on the open sill with one foot tucked under his body and the other swinging against the wall. “Get your head out of your ass and apologize to Stephanie. Even a demon knows when they have gone too far with one of their kin. It is unbecoming that you do not.” 

Grayson doesn’t seem to see or hear Timothy at all, which Damian found horribly sickening. Despite that, his brain is currently repelling all things Timothy related, so he ducks his head down.

“Fine.” Damian gives in. Better to get this over with, he thinks as he slips off the bed and stalks to the door.

He can hear Grayson getting up despite the quiet way he does so as he follows, but the second he steps out of the room, Damian’s eyes dart unconsciously to where Timothy now perches on the stair railing. 

“Be nice.” 

Damian scoffs angrily, brushing past Timothy and down the stairs without looking back. There is a small pinprick of pain from his bond that he ignores. It is merely a bit of emotion leaking through, and that means nothing to the son of Batman, and the grandson of Ra’s al Ghul because he does not bend to anyone else’s emotions.

It isn’t hard to find the other _loud_ inhabitants of the manor, easily following the trail to where they are gathered. Damian eyes Pennyworth who is standing off to the side, then Brown, and even Gordon has arrived at some point because they now both sit on the couch. 

Timothy, as always, loves to mess with his head when he is angry with Damian.

So, of course, Timothy perched behind Father’s head on the chair back while Damian was coming down, looking oddly sullen but disappointed nonetheless.

Damian growls and stalks straight-backed over the sit on the couch opposite of Brown and Gordon.

_Get it over with._

“I apologize for my behavior and your inept ability to fight, Brown.” 

Brown’s face darkens, and she jerks as if to come at him, but Gordon’s hand on her shoulder halts the ‘attack,’ if you could even call it that. Timothy hisses, and when Damian glances over, he regrets it. 

Timothy’s eyes are visibly sparking with red energy and Father’s face is a blank mask worse than Mother’s.

“Why you _little–_ ” Brown snaps, but once Gordon pats Brown’s leg the blonde deflates. Weakling, the woman is crippled, she would not be hard to fight off. “Fine. I’ll be the _mature_ one.” It looks like that hurt for her to say.

And Damian notes the distinct lack of wounds on her and curses Drake _again_ for healing her after Damian planned and executed the attack perfectly.

“Drake. _Really?_ You are seriously going to _pout_ about me helping her?”

Gordon winces as if she heard the sharp words from Timothy’s mouth, but her eyes move to Grayson as he sits down beside her and hugs her shoulders. 

Brown heaves a sigh and says, “I’ll accept your apology, _if_ — and only _if,_ you tell me about that boy down in the cave.”

Damian very carefully does not wince or flinch, making sure to keep eye contact with Brown and scowl — crossing his arms over his chest. Tim stares, eyes blank and fading fast, as if he knows–

“I don’t know who you’re talking about _Fatgirl–_ ” Brown hisses like a busted pipe. “You must have hit your head too hard when you fell so ungracefully. There wasn’t anyone else.”

“You’re _pushing it, child._ Don’t make me take drastic–”

“You’re lying!” Brown screeches, leaping to her feet and pointing her finger at him. “ _Someone_ pulled you away, and _someone_ healed me! Tell the truth!”

“I _am–_ ”

The doorbell rings and everyone around him freeze because of it……he does for an entirely different reason.

Timothy is gone, and his fists clench into his pants to keep from looking around like a lost child. Pennyworth is the first to move, giving a severe glance at the room when Father and Grayson try to follow, which Damian would normally find an annoyance that they listened, however, this time he could barely twitch.

Damian feels a pressure on him, keeping him still and silent, and then a foreign feeling of dread when Pennyworth returns with Timothy carrying a large brown suitcase in tow.

It only increases when Brown shrieks again, “That’s _him_! He was in the cave!”

Timothy, as usual, ignores the sudden tension in the room and give a polite smile. “Yes, I do apologize for leaving before we could properly meet but I had left my luggage in the hotel. My name is Timothy Drake, and I’m a friend of Damian’s.”

The sheer volume of the word ‘ _friend_ ’ that everyone in the room shouts doesn’t seem to affect Timothy, who gives another disarming smile.

Damian withers inside at the sight of it.

“Yes, I _do_ apologize for his actions, and I cannot divulge League secrets on how I healed you, Miss Stephanie, but I do hope my request to stay will not be too much trouble?”

Father shift to stand from his chair but does not carry it out. “You work for Ra’s?”

Timothy smiles again, this time there’s steel behind the look and a fire in his eyes. “Of course, Mister Wayne. Only the best for Damian here, as Mistress Talia would say. I was there to not make him personable, but to give him someone who he could trust to work with him. I understand if that makes me a bad guy in your books, but I am here to provide greatly needed stability for Damian, so it seems.”

Father frowns. Grayson, Gordon, and Brown have yet to pick their jaws off the floor, and Damian is tired of being talked about as if he weren’t in the room.

“Then you should have played nice,” Timothy says, his mouth unmoving.

“I’ll do anything you require of me so that I may stay, Mister Wayne.”

Damian mentally hisses as Father reluctantly agrees, setting Timothy up a room right beside Damian’s. The three baboons on the couch remain frozen in silence long after Timothy steers Damian away with a hand to the shoulder.


	4. ~Four~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escape Dinner

“This is your fault, child,” Timothy says for the twenty-seventh time, looking down at Damian who is most certainly not laying face first on the bed. “I tried to give you a fair option, but you were not cooperating.”

Damian groans, “But–”

“Alfred,” Timothy states. Damian moves to a sitting position — he does not _scramble_ — just in time for the two-part knock.

“It is time for dinner, Master Damian,” the old man calls. 

“We’ll be right down, Mister Pennyworth!” Timothy announces loudly, shooting Damian a look as if he knew he had not been planning on answering. It is too lowly to answer a servant, in Damian’s opinion.

“He is family. You’d do well to figure that out, child.”

“Oh, I hadn’t known you were in there, Mister Drake. I do apologize for my rudeness.”

Timothy blinks, his nose scrunching up. “Timothy is fine, Mister Pennyworth–”

“Then call me Alfred, my boy. It is only fair.”

Timothy perks up, eyes lighting up as he clearly enjoys his fun. “If you insist, Alfred. It saves you a trip since I am in here.”

“Nonsense, my boy,” Pennyworth chuckles, sounding amused at Timothy’s delight. “It was only a door down.”

“You do so much for this family, Alfred. Even _I_ know this,” Timothy shoots him an arch look, reaching down and hauling him up toward the door as if he weighed nothing. “Any time saved is a blessing, I’m sure.”

Timothy opens the door swiftly before Damian could protest, a thrum of laughter ringing through his head. The butler nods, not surprised at the swift reveal and smiles slightly. “It does get quite hectic around here, I would agree.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Timothy agrees, dragging Damian behind him as he follows behind the butler. “I would say it is illogical to only employ you around such an expansive estate, but human nature can never truly be trusted.”

Pennyworth looks down at Timothy with something in his eyes Damian cannot identify, and that just ruffles his feathers. “You sound much like my niece, Master Bruce’s daughter, Mistress Cassandra. She was given to his care by Lady Shiva a few years ago.”

Timothy’s hand spasms on Damian’s forearm. “Sandra Wu-San!?”

Damian jerks his head up at the same time that Pennyworth looks down, surprise clear on his face. “You know Lady Shiva’s real name, young Timothy?”

“I heard of her from …an _unfortunate_ acquaintance, you could call them. Would I be able to meet _Cassandra_ at any point, if possible?” Damian’s eyes narrow at Timothy’s changes in the subject.

Damian is curious, and he lets that emotion thrum through the connection in waves. 

Timothy does not react to it.

Before Damian can get annoyed, Pennyworth creases his brow and hums. “She is in Hong Kong, currently. I am not positive on when she plans on returning, though I could check up with her.”

“That would be much appreciated, Alfred.” Timothy inclines his head as they enter the small dining room, what little talking before stops at their entrance. The only ones present are Father and Grayson. Brown seems to have left, as has Gordon.

Damian smirks. Tim jabs him in the shoulder with his elbow, steering Damian to sit across from Grayson with steel in his grip. He does not sit down beside Damian. Damian sends his confusion along the bond, keeping his face impassive in the presence of the others.

Timothy inclines his head once again, a playful smile on his lips as his eyes consumed by red for only Damian to see before flooding almost completely with blue. “I apologize, Mister Wayne, but I do have an errand and will have to decline your gracious offer of the dinner Alfred prepared.”

Grayson, the slobbering hound, leans forward and tilts his head like a lost puppy. A befitting image, Damian would think. “Where ya going, Tim?” he inquires, voice too happy to not be fake, and Damian tuts at it all. The fakeness of Grayson’s attitude and Father’s attention to his food.

Tim’s smile turns sharp, his nostrils flaring with the scents in the air. Even his canine and premolar teeth appearing slightly elongated as his eyes flicker with red.

“No need to be so tense, Mister Richard.” Tim laughs, tilting his hip against the chair as Grayson babbles about calling him Dick, like an _idiot._ “I am merely going to check up on Miss Stephanie’s injuries, that is all. I will be back before sunrise at the latest, should my hasty work have left any nasty side effects I need to remedy”

Damian snaps his head up and glares at Timothy, who is leaving him for some bimbo who does not deserve it. Stupid Brown.

“ _Silence,_ ” Timothy barks, his face not slipping from the innocent smile he’s putting on for Father, Grayson, and Pennyworth that looks so real Damian can only see it as a mask. “I am doing this for your spoiled self, be civil while I am gone or I will take action into my hands further.”

“And you’re sure you don’t need an escort?” Father asks.

Damian focuses back in and feels as though he missed a large portion of the conversation, too busy glaring daggers at Timothy and cursing Brown for taking him from Damian.

“I wouldn’t want to impose more than I already am, Mister Wayne,” a thrum of comfort slides across the bond as Timothy wraps an arm around his shoulder. “You finish your dinner, I will be back as soon as I am able.” Timothy gives one last smile before passing Pennyworth to exit through the door, leaving Damian to glower at his food and ignore Grayson’s jabbering as smooth calm runs through the bond.


	5. ~Five~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk of Titles

Timothy enters the grand hall leading to the door and glides between one shadow and the next, appearing on the bedroom windowsill of Stephanie Brown’s apartment complex. He raps on the window and politely ignores the yelp and tumble off the bed Stephanie performs, bolting to the window where she throws it open with dramatic flair. 

“What are you doing here!?” she nearly shrieks, barely reining it in as she looks around in a panic, her blue eyes wide and hair frazzled. 

Timothy inclines his head to her. “I do apologize for barging in on you, Miss Stephanie. I wanted to be sure your wounds were healed, and I also wish to speak to you on a matter pertaining to Damian.”

Stephanie sighs, running her hand through her hair as she steps back. “For the love of– okay, call me Stephanie or Steph, whichever you prefer, drop the ‘miss’ bull. Just get inside before my neighbors see you and get wild ideas.”

Timothy ducks inside and settles himself across from Stephanie on the bed, hands folded in his lap as he scans the spartan room. Stephanie watches him, playing with her tattered sweat-pants and large sleeping shirt from where she leans back against her headboard.

“Would you like to talk first, or for me to check you over?”

Stephanie raises her eyebrows and quirks a small smile. “Talk, Tim. I’m assuming that was important enough to bring you over here because I can guarantee my wounds are no longer life-threatening enough to call for this visit.” 

Tim _likes_ her. “I would like to discuss Robin with you, Stephanie.” 

Stephanie stiffens, drawing herself up to glare him down into submission if he were a mortal man. “Why!?” she demands. “What could we possibly have to say?”

Timothy holds his hands up in a placating gesture, saying steadily, “I would like to propose a solution, Stephanie, nothing more.”

She eyes him before deflating. “What is it?”

“I would like you to hear me out,” he says, leaning forward. “But I have been thinking about your role as Robin and I believe you are truly ready for something more. Move on to become Batgirl, take up the mantle left behind and make it new, and give Robin to Damian. He needs validation, he needs his _father’s approval,_ more than anything else right now.” 

Stephanie opens her mouth, but she does not make a sound before she closes it. Timothy gives a soft, knowing smile, “Let the proud mantles be passed on, and start anew. What do you think?”

“I _think_ you’re a fuckin bastard,” she blurts, throwing herself back onto her pillows. “But I can’t even be mad because you’re a _smart_ bastard!”

“I apologize,” he says, but they both know he doesn’t really mean it. “You are not the first to say so.”

“Yeah, didn’t think I was,” Stephanie laughs, rolling over to stare at Timothy. “Okay, so I become Batgirl and the demon baby gets Robin. What then? _Why_ is Robin the only thing that’ll make the brat get approval by the big man?”

Timothy chuckles at the use of demon baby. Oh, how fitting if not slightly off observation. “As of now, Damian has been told his whole life that he is the true son, the _blood_ son of Bruce Wayne. Heir to an empire of both light and darkness.”

Timothy deigns to ignore Stephanie’s scoff for she is still listening with rapt attention. “Robin, to him, is a position by his father’s side. A _trusted_ position. A position he is currently fourth in line to inherit.”

“He doesn’t like that Bruce adopted kids, does he.” Stephanie states more to herself than Timothy. “So his set-in-stone position has suddenly been yanked out from under him and he’s reacting the only way he knows how?”

“Indeed,” Timothy says, a smile pulling at his lips. He really does like her. “He has a very fragile sense of self, as you can imagine. His mother and grandfather are not the most…mentally supportive humans to grace this Earth.”

“Ha!” Stephanie gasps, slapping a hand on her knee. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one!”

Timothy inclines his head, eyes flicking to the window when particularly loud music starts thumping so heavily the walls shake and his molars rattle. Timothy turns back and raises an eyebrow at Stephanie. “Would you like me to silence them for us so we can continue our conversation in peace?”

Stephanie sputters, looking torn between laughing and looking horrified. “What? No!”

“Hmm, shame.” Timothy sighs. “Well then, shall we proceed to the manor where we may still catch the tail-end of an awkward dinner of three?”

Stephanie’s face lights up as she bounces. “You _didn’t!_ ”

“I would never,” Timothy confirms solemnly. “But if I just so happened to leave before dinner was served it was entirely unintentional.”

Stephanie leaps to her feet, already slinging a light jacket on. She cackles before spinning to face him, a finger jabbed in his direction. “I like you!”

“The feeling is mutual, Stephanie. Now, I may or may not have borrowed one of Mister Wayne’s motorcycles. And it may or may not be waiting for us outside if we hurry.”


End file.
